It Frightens Me
by La Sorelli
Summary: This is revised. An account of Meg's feelings towards what's happening with Christine. One-shot.


I worry for her; my best friend, my sister. I watch her tormented sleep in the room we share. She has nightmares, terrible nightmares. Sometimes she wakes up screaming, looking around her in fear. I have to calm her down and help her sleep once more.

"He'll find me! He'll find us! We're not safe!" she sobs, clutching on to my nightdress with fierceness.

"No Christine, he won't." I assure her gently. "We will be safe here. You are safe." Then eventually, she falls back into feverish sleep.

It's the same thing every night. She thinks he's after her, coming to take her away. I try to tell maman about it, but she snaps at me each time;

"Nonsense, Marguerite. Your poor foster sister suffers from deluded senses, that's all." And then, rather anxiously, she turns away.

Maman does not realize what I know. How much I know. She thinks I'm in the dark about him, that I just think he's The Ghost, The Phantom, and Christine's mysterious teacher; just like everyone else.

But I know. I know all about him; Erik. From years of spying, eavesdropping and snooping, I have learned the truth about my mother's strange relationship with him. They were once best friends. My mother saved his life, a different story entirely. She gave him the home beneath the opera, though it was not hers to give. She gave him clothes, food shelter, and most importantly, friendship. She gave him masks to hide behind and materials to create works of pure genius from.

Then he left. Where do I not know, or why, her journals do not say. She was heartbroken. She had been in love with him, and still was, though she hid it with expertise. He was gone for many years. Over that time, maman married, had me, and was widowed. My father died when I was three. I scarcely remember him, or what my mother used to be like. Then poor maman had a terrible accident trying to fix the roof. She shattered her leg bone. She would never dance again, and with this as the final blow, she turned into the rigid, bitter, sometimes very cold woman that I know so well.

Erik came back one day, but their relationship was changed. He'd become a villain; cruel, angry and violent. His hatred of the world created the infamous ghost. Using his power and threats, he made maman ballet mistress, an attempt to pay back some of the debt he owed her. Now the management is highly suspicious of her, yet they are too afraid to approach her. She and Erik remain icy acquaintances, bound by guilt and threats.

It infuriates me that maman won't try to stop him, despite all their animosity towards each other. He's destroying Christine, piece by piece. He loves her, yes, he obsesses over her, but he tortures and hurts her. He fills her with horror and dread, restricting her from living a normal life. People think she's gone mad. And my mother just stands and watches.

Enough has finally become enough.

One morning before rehearsals I go to her room and knock softly on the door.

"Come in." sounds her tired voice.

I walk in, feeling an urge to curtsy, but ignoring it. She is my mother right now, not my instructor. Yet I always felt I had to act like a pupil towards her.

"Ah, Marguerite," she smiles slightly, "Good morning."

I cringe at her use of my full name.

"Good morning, maman." I say nervously, still standing in the open doorframe. I watch her fix her dark hair in the vanity's mirror, pinning it meticulously into a perfect braid. I am hesitant to speak.

"Is there something you need, Marguerite?" she asks, gazing at me through the mirror.

"Actually, yes, maman. I'd…like to speak with you." I say slowly and then quickly add, "If that is all right."

"Of course, come in Marguerite. Close the door." Maman waves me inside with unusual warmth.

I shut the door quickly. It's best to just begin. No more hesitation.

"Maman, I'm very worried about Christine."

"Is she still having bad dreams?" she asks, sifting through her jewelry box.

"Yes, maman, but it's…worse than that. Her reality is a nightmare. Not just her dreams."

"Is it?"

"Yes. She's terrified. She knows he'll come after her again. She knows what Erik will do…"

The jewelry box lid slams down with a jolting severity. Instantly, I realize I've said something wrong.

"What makes you thing it is all right for you to call him that?" she hisses at me.

"It's his name, mother." I reply firmly. The worst thing to do around her is to lose face. I had to be confident in my confrontation. My mother could sense weakness like a predatory cat.

"You have no right to speak of him." She snaps, rustling across the room and picking up a piece of knitting, in order to keep her face away from me.

"I know all about him, maman. I know about the gypsies and the house underground. I know about your friendship. I know you love him."

"You went through my things?" she demands.

There is no point in lying.

"Yes." I half expect her to slap me, but she just continues to feebly knit the red wool. Her knitting needles click rapidly, her hands have started to shake.

"It was wrong of me, maman. I'm sorry." I say, trying to continue normally, "I just needed to know. You were always vanishing and skulking around corners. I heard you talking to him. I saw him once…in here. I was very young. You told me I'd imagined it, but I knew I hadn't."

She sighs; an exhausted and heartbroken sound. The knitting drops to the floor. Her free hand goes to her forehead while the other rests helplessly on her black cane.

"I'm sorry I lied to you." She says quietly.

The apology I've craved for so long finally comes, and I only think of Christine.

"Oh maman…I forgave you long ago. I know you only wanted to protect me from him."

She makes a soft noise. It almost sounds like she is crying, but that can not be so. I have never seen her cry. Carefully, I go to her side. Her beautiful, hardened features are twisted into a face of utter grief. Yet no tears come. It's as if she's painfully struggling for tears with no success.

"Maman," I place my hand gently on her taffeta sleeve. "Maman, you must try to help Christine. You must protect her, like you protect me."

"I've failed her." She whispers sadly, "I've sent her to her death."

"No, there is still time!" I say fervently clutching her arm. "Maman you can still stop him. He'll listen to you…you can make him listen…"

"No, Meg." She says angrily. Not angry at me, but angry at herself I think. "I can do nothing. No one on this earth can stop him."

"But you are his friend…"

"I _was_ his friend." She corrects me sharply. "He no longer has friends. He made that very clear. I'm just a tool in his plot, nothing more."

"No!" I cry furiously and pull away from her. "We have to save her! He'll take her forever. I'll never see her again. She could die! Do you not care? She could _die_!"

I begin to weep out of anger and fear. I fall to the sofa and weep into my hands. I cannot bear the thought of losing her. I love her like my own flesh and blood. We've all lost so much already. How can God let this happen? How can maman?

Suddenly, I feel maman's arm slip around my shoulders. The act is shocking and very unlike her. But I feel warmth, so comforting; I did not know she possessed such a quality.

"Meg, I do care. I care so deeply for her. But if I try to stop him, he will hurt me and you as well. I've already tried…he only threatens me. I cannot let him harm you. He's a cruel, twisted man who no longer cares for anyone's feelings. If he wants her, he'll take her."

"He'll kill her! She doesn't love him, she loves the Vicomte! He'll kill her because she does not love him!" I sobbed.

Maman does not respond, because she knows what I say is completely possible. I raise my head and look at her. She is scared. So am I.

"So are we just to sit and wait?" I ask in horror.

"I'm afraid so," she nods. "This is out of our hands now. We cannot interfere with matters of the heart."

"It frightens me." I whisper.

She strokes my hair with her long, slim fingers. "It frightens me too."

My foster-sister has been deceived on to a dark path. A path she must follow until the end. I can only wait and pray.

Yet something tells met hat no amount of prayers will bring this disaster to a peaceful ending.


End file.
